


The blogger and his detective

by Farraway



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Gen, John Watson's Blog, johnlock but can be read as friends only, post!s04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farraway/pseuds/Farraway
Summary: post!s04. Blogger writes a blog post and chaos ensues. crack!fic?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	The blogger and his detective

**Author's Note:**

> Because everyone missed that times when John H. Watson wrote all the cases on his blog and after almost 4 years since his friend's faked death he's back where they begun. 
> 
> I ship them, never gonna be sorry but can be read as friends only.

_10 December_

_**My new-old flatmate.** _

_'Tick and tock they go minutes past minutes yet I still do find myself fascinated albeit sometimes disturbed by my flatmate name of Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world. In the past couple years I had a lot of things and thoughts to sort through, especially with Rosie around._

_It's been years since Mary's death and if it wasn't for clever and ever cunning Mrs. Hudson I'd probably still be looking at white walls of mine and Mary's house however that is not the case. I mean I am still not sure if I should be glad or terrified of the way Sherlock treats my daughter._

_Alas I just want to mention that yes, my blog is back and you can expect more stories and cases that the blogger and his detective solve together._

_And no Sherlock I am not writing this blog about you.'_

* * *

“You really couldn't stop yourself from writing that last bit, couldn't you?” mentioned off-handely Sherlock glancing at the screen, violin hanging from his hand leisurely.

“I am not—!” remarked John hauntingly, glaring at much taller dark haired male at the same time pausing in writing. He shook his head half-disappointed but at the same time glad that this mysterious, utterly maddening man was back in his life. “I am not writing in my blog _just_ about you, it never was _just_ about you and never will.”

“Yet you still can't stop yourself from mentioning me in the first post since the last one, two years later—which reminds me never, ever ask me to write a post about _your_ wedding, or _any_ wedding whatsoever again, such horrendous task it was” continued his trail of thought Sherlock, glancing out-and-about. “Anyway. I thought that by now this thing of yours was deleted, non-existent anymore, do they don't erase inactive accounts-slash-blogs? I thought they did, I swear they did. And whatsoever happened with the visitors count—”

John closed his eyes, he felt a headache building _right now_. “Sherlock—”

“I'm sorry am I bothering you?” Sherlock asked instead not sorry at all, picking back up again his violin and stepping away towards the wall. The case wall. “Please do help yourself and do try not to write anything too compromising, especially not the ones I've never bothered solving.”

With blank smile on his face John sighed. “Some things never change” he chuckled at that, once again opening the tab with his blog. “And to answer your question from earlier they _do_ indeed delete old inactive accounts.”

Sherlock visibly stiffened, his eyes locked onto the case wall where multiple different photos and newspaper scraps were nailed into. Visible part of bright yellow spray paint face seemed to smile at both occupants.

“Oh?” he pressed, his back to John.

John nodded more to himself than his flatmate. “Oh indeed” he replied, smugness in his voice. “Whatever gave you the idea I never logged in again.”

It sounded more like a challenge than a statement and Sherlock just couldn't stop himself from deducing couple things. Things that were still unsaid between two of them, the things that they never truly accepted for what they were. _Sentiments_.

“Oh...” it was a low murmur that escaped him.

“Why so surprised? It's not as if I never checked for new comments and—” John stopped short, blinking at his newest post. “Oh lookie here, already 3 comments, let's see.”

A short silence followed and then—

“Sherlock!” A very mad doctor exclaimed, glaring at his flatmate. “How? When did you—?”

Sherlock smirked stringing his violin slowly, turning to John with raised eyebrows. “First post John” he stated with obvious smugness in his voice as he strode towards the window.

Huffing under nose John shook his head but before he logged off, he put the visitors count back on his blog and—he stared stupefied.

“Oh my god” he murmured under nose, leaning face on his palm.

The number of visitors, he didn't expect it to be that high but then again, he hasn't checked it for two years. Two years full of crimes, pursuits and baby nappies not to mention, _healing_. Somehow he was glad that he's at least had his PMs disabled.

101219.

Thousands. Thousands people visited his blog while he was away, thousands of people were interested in reading about the cases and that weird, sometimes uncultured, irritating arsehole that Sherlock Holmes was— _is_.

“Insane. They're all insane” he mentioned off-handely, blinking at the screen. With a click of his finger he reset the counter to flat zero again.

A resounding bings filled the room then and two hands reached for two very different mobiles.

_First post, really?_

_Should I expect a happy announcement by the end of the week after all?_

_MH._

John burst out laughing upon seeing that, Sherlock frowned his lip curling in disgust.

“Mycroft always had a very twisted sense of humour” stated Sherlock but a shadow of smile did appear on his face.

Still laughing John couldn't stop shaking of his body, it seemed that even the government himself was following his blog constantly. The fact that this text felt like a blast from the past only added to the ridiculousness of the situation.

As if to add more to the entire thing flashing sirens stopped just before 221b Baker St. right then and the laughter died faster than John could blink.

“What's—?”

Sherlock only pursed his lips tightly looking at stupefied ex-military doctor that looked like a fish taken out of water. Utterly—

“Ridiculous” spoke Sherlock and bit his lip, clearly amused by the events.

“Would you explain to me—?” started John, eyes like a deer looking into lights.

Howsoever before he could even finish his question a stampede of shoes resounded in corridor, bunch of well known people almost literally burst into their tiny flat, Mrs. Hudson with Rosie on her 'bad hip' first to chirp happily.

“Oh I am so happy for you boys! Finally after all those years.”

Donovan and Anderson stood in-between random policemen, Lestrade looking clearly surprised but not as much as John was at the very moment—and speechless.

“W—what's going on?” he asked faintly, looking at bunch of people in their flat. Mrs. Hudson cooed Rosie that clapped happily for whatsoever reason. When no one spoke, he turned to Sherlock who was quite amused. “Sherlock?”

“It's true then?” finally spoke Lestrade, coming forward a bit.

“It's true what?” retorted John, still quite fish-faced.

As if on command all of the gathered took out their mobiles, same text signed MH and after actually standing up to check them John groaned.

From beside window snicker could be heard.

“This is not funny, Sherlock!”

“So it's a rouse then? We've all seen the post on your blog John” added Anderson from somewhere beside Donovan. “We thought it meant—”

“It meant what exactly, huh?” grouched John turning on the man, his nose flaring. “This text is meaningless, why do you lot all gathered here?”

With the tiny detail that it wasn't meaningless at all, not really. Sentiment.

Mrs. Hudson visibly deflated. “Oh, I just asked them if they got the same text and—”

John rolled his eyes so bodily, his entire being shook. “Oh for god's sake.”

Another series of bings resounded in the flat and all of the occupants checked their mobiles.

_I'm looking forward to the next entry._

_ps. You need to work on your poker face, brother of mine._

_You're losing your touch._

_MH._

A collective of groans filled the room then and John glared at the dark haired detective that still stood by the window.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

Sherlock chuckled then turning around, his dark curls wild and everywhere. He was amused, happy and they all could see it.

“Oh Mycroft, you old sod.”

Lestrade only groaned again, tugging at his hair. “Bollocks” he muttered while Donovan stepped by him, smug and with her hand out, fingers wiggling. “Sod it.”

Mrs. Hudson balked at that, covering Rosie's ear with her free hand. “Language!”

Greg only rolled his eyes and smiled in apology while he took his old, battered wallet out and slapped very crumpled £20 note into Donovan's hand.

John gaped, Sherlock clasped hands over his lips.

“Gav do you have maybe the file of the 'Disappearing Bridesmaid' on your person right now by any chance? Please tell me you do because I just had the most glorious idea what happened thanks to that sod I call my brother.”

Still gaping John only shook his head around entire situation. “Did—did Mycroft just—?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed, looking around lost. “Was it a prank?”

Few murmurs of disappointment filled the room and then people started to disperse, some tagged behind but most left by the time Greg managed to answer Sherlock's question.

“I—I'm sorry, the case files are at the station.”

“Boring!” exclaimed Sherlock to that, twirling in place and stepping over the coffee table to stand on the couch, lost in thought.

Rosie clapped happily her eyes locked on Sherlock as if he was the most interesting thing in her entire world and John caught on to that detail. Maybe it was a Watson thing? Sherlock Holmes after all was the most intriguing person that ever walked the earth.

“So there's nothing serious between two of you then?” asked Mrs. Hudson finally after stretching minutes of silence that followed the situation.

“How many times I have to repeat that I am not gay!” John growled back at that, shooting daggers at Sherlock's back for whatever reason.

Of course poor housekeeper did jump a bit at his voice volume.

“Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have—”

But the older woman only frowned as if she knew something quite obvious. “Oh you poor dear, you're probably not used to this anymore. I'm really sorry if I stressed you out tagging so many people around, I'll make you a cuppa then, be right back” with this she kissed the top of Rosie's head and sat her on the worn out armchair—the Watson armchair.

John sighed, scratching his neck and turned to Anderson and Lestrade, the last two extra occupants of the room.

“I didn't want to—”

Lestrade only pat him on the back. “It's all right mate, mistakes are made. You do owe me that £20 though.”

“£20? What £20?”

But detective inspector didn't say anything more just clapped him again turning around, his coat billowing behind him. Anderson hung a bit behind, his tiny eyes sparkling with some knowledge.

“Soon” the man said before he followed after his chief.

John blinked twice “Soon?”

“Give paper!”

Looking down to his daughter he smiled as she kept on trotting towards Sherlock who was still lost in thought. He scooped her up just when she started to tug at taller males trouser pant. With a giggle John smooched his little girl before he sat with her back in the armchair.

Mrs. Hudson appeared literally two minutes later, a plate of crackers and cheese in one hand and tea cup in the other, placed both on the cluttered desk right next to still opened laptop. With a glance she smiled once again.

“Oh John, so many people missed this! Look at all of the comments!”

Rolling eyes lazily he grabbed his mobile—

—Ping!

—Ping!

—Ping!

“Oh, Jesus Christ!”


End file.
